soft surface of hers.
“Don’t panic,” he said. “I can’t lift up, so we’re going sideways. Okay?”
“Please hurry. Before we start growing moss.”
“Keep your hands tucked in,” he said sharply. He cupped the back of her head in one of his hands, tucked her face into the hollow of his shoulder and, with a leg wrapped around hers, rolled them sideways.
Teresa and the older children pulled on them. Sweaty little hands grabbed her arm. Ben pushed her away from him. Suddenly she was on her knees, the sun on her face.
She reached toward Ben, who lay on his back, his chest moving comfortingly up and down, a broken branch of the tree still covering him. Corie dragged it away and she and Teresa pulled him clear.
Teresa put her hands to Ben’s face and looked him over feature by feature. “Oh, Ben. Can you see? Does your head hurt?”
His thick, blunt eyelashes rose up then down. “I’m fine.” He rolled over and stood carefully. When he straightened, he wobbled.
Corie put his arm around her shoulders and wrapped hers around his waist. “Easy. Don’t fall,” she pleaded, “or we’ll never get you up.”
“We could put him in the wheelbarrow,” Soren suggested helpfully, hovering around them. “Want me to get it?”
Ben smiled and Corie heard a low laugh escape him. “No, thanks. I can make it.”
With Teresa on his other side, they started for the house. “Just go slowly,” she instructed as though he were one of the children. “Let us share your weight. Boys, run and open the door and make sure the couch is clear.”
Let them share his weight. He felt like Gulliver being led away by the Lilliputians.
Ben let them lead him to the sofa but refused to lie down. As soon as he was seated Teresa headed for the kitchen. Ben ran a hand over his face to clear blurry eyes and looked up at Corie. “You’re sure you’re okay? There’s a bruise near your cheekbone.”
“I just carried you across the yard, didn’t I?”
He saw a hint of humor in her expression. He couldn’t stop an answering smile—until he remembered why he was here. But before he could raise the subject, Teresa returned with two wet washcloths. She placed one unceremoniously on his upturned face and the other she put against Corie’s cheek.
“That bruise might be from Ben’s shoulder,” she said, “when he went down on top of you. I’m sure the trunk missed you, but you got a branch in the face. I think you’re okay but... Ben? Are you? The trunk smacked right into you.”
“Yeah.” He held the cold cloth to his face one more minute then took it down. His back prickled and he shifted uncomfortably. “Apart from having needles down my shirt.”
“I’ll get you another shirt and wash that one for you. How’re you doing, Corie? Want a glass of water? A cup of tea?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Nine little bodies crowded around them as Teresa left the room again. Rosie held Roberto.
“Everything’s okay,” Corie told them. “I’m fine. Ben’s fine. You can go play.”
Carlos frowned and pointed outside. “But the tree.”
“We might have to leave hauling it in until tomorrow. I have to go to work pretty soon. We’ll get it up, don’t worry.”
Ben thought they looked more disappointed than worried.
“Why don’t you go keep an eye on it,” he told the children. “I’m coming out in a minute and I’d like you to help me bring it into the house. Does anybody know where the Christmas tree stand is?”
“I do.” Soren took off, Carlos and the other children right behind him.
The moment they were out of earshot, Corie sat beside him. “We’ll take care of the tree. Why are you here, anyway?” she asked sharply.
With a quick glance around to make sure no one had lingered, he replied quietly, “I want to talk to you about the jewelry you stole from Tyree. But I’d rather do it in private.”
She made a sound of disgust and stood. To think she’d saved his life. Well, actually, he’d gotten into trouble trying to save hers. Still—same old Ben. Suspicious. Judgmental. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about it at all.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice. You know what happened. You were there.” It was such an injustice that Jack had come in search of her after all those years on the very day she’d chosen to break into Cyrus Tyree’s house and steal the jewelry that could secure the future of Teresa’s foster home.
He stood beside her, a good head taller than she was. She looked right into his face so he wouldn’t think he could intimidate her with his size.
“I was, but something seems to have changed along the way,” he said. “I put the jewelry into a priority-mail box and sent it to Tyree. But, according to the news report on national television, what was delivered was not what I sent. Mrs. Tyree held up a handful of Mardi Gras beads for the camera. Not the diamonds, emeralds and gold that you stole and that I packed up and mailed back.” He folded his arms, biceps rounded under the thin cotton of his shirt. “How’d you do that?”
She felt such dislike for him at that moment she didn’t trust herself to remain in his presence. She started to walk away but he made the mistake of stopping her again.
* * *
BEN DODGED FISTS, fingernails, even feet as he caught her to him when she rounded on him like a cornered coyote.
“What about the security footage Tyree claims to have from that night?” He grabbed a flailing fist. “I’m guessing it’s just a matter of time before someone recognizes you then—by extension—Jack and Sarah and me.” He freed her hand and turned her so that her back was against him. He asked angrily in her ear, “You want to talk about that? Your war-hero brother’s reputation ruined because he tried to help his thieving little sister? Not to mention Sarah’s reputation and mine.”
And that was how Teresa found them; Corie flailing in his arms, her legs bicycling the air a foot off the floor.
Her expression changed as she approached them, a red sweatshirt in her hand. The warm, sweet-natured woman was now the wild coyote pup’s mother.
“Put her down,” she said.
He did.
To his complete surprise Corie explained. “I started it.” She combed her fingers through her tangled hair and spared him a quick, dark glance. “We’ll put the tree in the stand, then I have to get to work and he’s going back to Oregon.”
“I’m not going back to Oregon,” he corrected.
“Don’t you have a job? Aren’t you Beggar’s Bay’s most vigilant and disagreeable cop?”
